A Symphony unto Oneself

A Symphony unto Oneself

Chapter 3

     The Story The Authors
Mr. Tickles shifted grudgingly on his high stool and slowly reached over to start the ancient film projecter. "Bitch" he growled softly to himself. "I heard that you!" screamed the Tooth Bitch from the other side of the alley. "Don' ya'll think I dint. And believe you me, honeylam there gon' be hell to pay fer that, yes'ir. Hell to pay." The projecter kicked into life and the circle of light from the lens seemed for all the world to Jake like the cyclops eye of a speeding motorcycle come to run him down at last. He welcomed it. The Tooth Bitch gave him a little spike heeled kick. "Ya'll better pay attention swee'pea 'cuz this hea' what I gots to impart on yo' sorry ass." The numbers flashed past in reverse and the film began. Lanark
"Isn't he just the cutest!" the Tooth Bitch was saying back on Jake's side of the street. "He was difficult at first, especially when I first gave him the outfit. But isn't he adorable, with the hat, and the curly-tip elf shoes, and the beard, I made him wear afake one until his real beard grew out, god, beards, reminds me, don't you just hate shaving your legs, girlfriend? Sigh. I simply loathe it. Shaving, waxing, electrolysis -- all the same. There ought to be a way to cut it off once so that it would never come back, don't you agree?" Jake gulped. "Anyway, you'll never believe where I found him -- the Circus! Isn't that just so darling and, oh, traditional? A gentleman visitor of mine, in town for a view days from Mi-lan, took little old moi to the Cirque d'Hiver, and behind one of the concession stands they're selling peanuts, popcorn, cotton candy, circus posters, animal crackers, and midgets. Well, dwarves, too. A few leprachauns, some brownies, pixies, nixies. For sale. I looked at my gentelman companion, Mr. Montalban he's called, very handsome and very wealthy, I said to him, 'Ricardo, Ricardo, wouldn't you feel more reassured about things if you knew there was a little dwarf with me, protecting me and taking care of me while you were gone?' How could he argue with that, girlfriend, how? Well he couldn't. Mr. Montalban he told me 'Angel, you just pick whichever of those little monkeys your heart desires.' And I already knew which one. Philip
As the film rolled, Jake was filled with a dark, moist, squishy sense of impending doom. Philip
"You might as well just kill yourself now." said a mysterious voice from over Jake's left shoulder. Jake glanced to his left to see from where the voice emanated and he was very surprised to see an 11 1/2 inch figure standing on his shoulder The figure was a woman wearing a hot pink vinyl mini dress and her strawberry blonde hair was done up into a beehive hairdo that was at least half her height. Jake was beginning to think that someone had slipped him a Mickey. "Wh- wh- who are you?" Jake stammered. "I am the ghost of Vashondra Du Lunchenette. And listen to me, honey. You don't want to be watching any film that the Tooth Bitch is showing. Trust me!" "But killing himself is not the answer!" Jake heard another voice from over his right shoulder and when he turned to look there was another 11 1/2 inch woman standing on his right shoulder. She also wore a beehive which was less fabulous than Vashondra's. "Bitzy Bootleg!" squealed Vashondra. "You're crashing my scene! Why don't you go make us some nice martinis?" "What are you two Bitches doin' here?" the Tooth Bitch said to Vash and Bitz with her hands firmly planted on her hips. "We are trying to save this poor boy from one of your lame ass films." Bitzy replied. "You mean I am, you're supposed to be making martinis." Vashondra responded. Jake was beginning to get a headache. Mr. Tickles was hoping he'd get to see a cat fight. cuddles
But alas for poor Mr. Tickles it was not to be.

The tiny ghostly figures blinked and faded into something akin to TV interference. A second passed. Then Vashondra's image returned, this time in a loose white gown. Her coiffure changed to two tight danish buns on the lateral portions of her head. The image skipped like a broken record.

"Help me Obi Wan, You're our only hope" she repeated over and over to nobody in particular. From somewhere's further down the alley came a slightly British whine.
"R2 where are you? Hurry come along! Master Luke needs us."

Something resembling a movie theater trashcan on stubby wheels erupted from nearby shadows and lumbered away whistling and beeping in an odd and mechanical approximation of laughter.


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